


freak

by Ruto



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Genocide Route, Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 11:04:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6282115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruto/pseuds/Ruto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Last Corridor becomes a graveyard over and over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	freak

**Author's Note:**

> I have a slice-of-life fic to be working on, and instead I wrote... this. Funny how that works.
> 
> 5/11/16: Made some very minor edits.

At first, the Fallen Child was angry. Oh, were they _angry_. Did Sans think it was _funny_ , killing them within the first five seconds of battle? Interrupting his pre-battle speech with that wretched slew of bones and skull lasers to throw them off guard? Attacking them in the menu? Faking a SPARE? Keeping count of how many times they'd pulled themselves back from the void of death?

But at some point, the rage that came upon yet another failed attempt at his life began to numb. Death by laser, death by bones _—_ it stopped being noteworthy. Merely a minor inconvenience. There was always the next attempt, thanks to "someone else". The _other_ entity. They were an infinite wellspring of determination that the Fallen Child could draw from.

The Fallen Child kept dying. The Fallen Child kept trying.

They began to memorize his attack patterns. _Small jumps, left and right, stop and start, focus on one bone, platform to platform, keep moving —_

Trying, dying. Trying, dying. Trying, dying.

They observed the incremental progress they were making.

_Trying, dying. Trying, dying. Trying, dying._

Every time their knife cut through thin air, Sans grew more weary. They knew, if they kept on like this, success was inevitable. It was only a matter of time.

...

The progress.

His pain.

It became _fun._

Though Sans had long stopped counting, could he guess from the look on their face how many times it was now that they had chosen to come back to the Last Corridor? Could he tell that every victory on his part only spurred them on further, fueled their borrowed determination? That death’s cold hands reached out for him, inching closer and closer, each time he “won" and shattered their SOUL upon a sea of bones?

Before one attempt, Sans changed the script.

“are you sure you’re not getting bored of this?”

The Fallen Child smiled.

“I can’t stop now. Victory is a hairsbreadth away.”

“someone’s been consulting their word of the day calendar.”

_FIGHT._

The Fallen Child survived long enough to make it to the cacophonous rings of skull lasers this time. That they died within moments didn’t matter. The high was worth it. They almost felt properly _alive_ again. This challenge, this exhilaration... Only Undyne the Undying had come close to evoking this feeling. Fighting Sans? They could do this until the end of time.

When they managed to survive the skull laser finale, they trembled with adrenaline. They waited impatiently for tired, tired Sans to sleep. What a sight. It was almost sweet. They couldn’t wait to strike their knife across his ribs.

They pulled the combat box over the FIGHT button.

Chara killed Sans when he was as off-guard as they had been the first unfair time they’d faced off. The pure shock on Sans’ face was worth every single death up until this point. His barefaced misery made them ecstatic. They howled with laughter.

 _Blood or ketchup?_ they managed to wonder, spotting the red liquid leaking from his bones.

...But as Sans faded into powdery dust, calling out for a phantom of Papyrus, Chara understood that this was not enough.

So they reloaded.

From little more than their twisted glee, Sans understood what they had done. Chara made of a show of examining the knife in their hands which had been slick and red but a moment ago. They waved it at Sans, taunting him.

And so began Chara's game, now that they had mastered his.

FIGHT Sans, kill him, and reload ad infinitum _._ Bring vengeance down upon him as many times as he had killed them.

"This is _my_ KARMA," they said, slicing through their exhausted prey's ribs for the second time of what would become many.

They reloaded.

Again and again, Sans betrayed the depths of his suffering.

_This is your hell._

Again and again, knife struck bone.

_Shatter and break._

Again and again, dust scattered across the floor.

_Dissolve into nothing._

Again and again, it brought them joy.

_I'll never stop._

Again and again, it wasn't enough.

_I'll never stop._

Again and again, they reloaded.

_**I will never stop.** _

Ten, twenty, thirty times _—_ they lost track somewhere around fifty-five or fifty-seven.

The details didn't matter. All that mattered is that it **_didn't stop._**

“you’re having fun,” observed Sans as Chara initiated the opening scene. Beads of sweat already trailed down his skull. He could _feel_ their killing intent like a thick miasma.

“Most certainly.”

"i think you might need to consider finding a better hobby.”

“No, this suits me well,” they said. “You should think of this situation between us as fortunate. I can't erase the world as long as I have you to entertain me.”

A look torn between despair and hope flashed across his face for a millisecond.

_Delightful._

“like i said. get a better hobby. knitting, maybe.”

“I could kill you with knitting needles. Actually, thank you for the suggestion, I may try that next.”

“you’re an inventive kid, huh,” Sans said, shifting in place. “there’s a lot of ways to apply a big imagination that don’t involve murdering people.”

“You know, of course, it’s far too late to sway me from the path we’ve chosen.”

“we?” asked Sans, pupils disappearing into darkness.

Chara chuckled. “You wouldn’t understand. Shall we begin?”

“whenever you’re ready, freak,” said Sans. Empty eyes, hollow smile. The absence of hope.

 _But he can’t afford not to care anymore,_ thought Chara, and that was part of what made this so wonderful. He would fight them no matter how many times they returned from a timeline where they’d already snuffed out his life, because maybe, just maybe, this would be the run that would stop them, stop all of this.  
  
It wouldn’t be. That precious, merciful surrender he wished for would never come.

This time, upon selecting the FIGHT button, Chara stabbed into his eye socket and tore horizontally across his skull, leaving a long, bleeding gash behind. It would be _boring_ to kill him in the exact same manner every time.

“hope you enjoyed that,” said Sans, clutching his eye as the red liquid trailed down, drip, drip, dripping past his hand.

“Like you have no idea,” said Chara, flicking the liquid from the knife’s tip, droplets splattering onto the floor. “Blood or ketchup, by the way?”

Sans winked. Right eye. “gonna take that one to my grave.” He limped away and dissolved into dust. Chara never tired of that pitiful sight.

They stared down at their sullied knife. They rubbed their thumb over the substance staining the knife.

They pressed their thumb to their tongue.

...

“Ah. So that’s it.”

They couldn’t _wait_ to tell Sans what they’d discovered.

They reloaded.


End file.
